


Flesh and Bone

by malfaux



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Ghosts, Mild Gore, Montparnasse is a cat, Shapeshifting, just as a warning the montponine is mostly implied
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-29
Updated: 2014-10-29
Packaged: 2018-02-23 02:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2531000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfaux/pseuds/malfaux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The exciting adventures of Éponine Thenardier (witch) and Montparnasse (presently: cat, formerly: wizard, ideally: wizard again).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flesh and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> For aporeticelenchus, who requested Eponine and Montparnasse, fantasy AU of any kind! An EXCELLENT prompt and I hope you enjoy!

Éponine drew her coat around herself, hugging her sides closely, as she peered up into the window at the silhouette of one M. Pontmercy, hunched over his desk. When he hadn't texted her back, she'd wondered if he'd been busy–the _out with some girl_ kind of busy, in particular–but, much to her relief, it seemed that he was a different kind of busy.

It wasn't like he was fun to text, in particular, but his stilted, formal phrasing had endeared him to Éponine. As did most of the things that he did.

As the streetlamp dimmed and flickered, Éponine carefully extricated herself from the little garden outside, slipping over the little thigh-high fence that enclosed it. She drew her worn leather jacket around her, zipping it up tight against the November cold–and then stilled, listening intently.

There it went again. A little meow, scratchy and hoarse. She peered back over the little fence, into its shadow, to find two green eyes staring back at her. She glanced up at the silhouetted Marius Pontmercy one more time (he hadn't moved) before leaning over the fence.

"Hello, there," she whispered, stretching her fingertips towards the cat. It narrowed its eyes–and Éponine had the sudden, intense sensation of being _judged_ –before permitting Éponine to brush her knuckles across its cheekbone. As she moved her hand up to scritch its ears, it hissed, drawing back abruptly. "What's that?" Éponine asked, stretching her hands out further. "Let me see you–"

In a flash, she had the yowling, spitting thing by the scruff of its neck. Éponine laughed, holding it out of range. "That's a nasty scratch," she observed, carefully turning it so that she could see the gash just next to its right ear. Fresh, too, from the looks of it. It was sleek and black, and despite its gauntness, it was a _handsome_ cat, as cats went, Éponine had to admit. "What're you doing here, then?" she continued, holding it closer once its outrage receded into wariness. She glanced up at the window. "Do you like him, too?" The look the cat gave Éponine was nothing short of baleful, and Éponine grinned. "You look hungry," she continued, ignoring the slightly perplexed look an approaching passerby shot her. "Do you wanna come home with me?"

The cat eyed her with something like wariness, not that Éponine blamed it; she'd be equally wary if she'd been snatched up from the ground by some stranger. Still, it didn't look outright unhappy, and so Éponine decided that she'd count that as a yes. It even relaxed as she held it to her chest, and as long as Éponine made sure to avoid its right ear, it allowed Éponine to stroke it as much as she liked. As she walked home, she talked to it–telling it that her name was Éponine, that she was nineteen, that she had one sister and more brothers than she could keep track of, and so on–and although the black cat was similarly nonresponsive, at least in English, talking to it felt a little bit better than sending her texts off into the void of Pontmercy nonresponse.

No one appeared to be up by the time she slipped in through the front door at home, but just to be safe, Éponine carefully covered the black cat up with her leather jacket–small animals tended to disappear within the range of her parents' business, as she'd learned–before sneaking it up to her room, along with some milk in a bowl. She set the bowl and the cat on the ground, slipping her jacket off as she watched it sniff at the milk.

"That's what you're getting," she informed it, as it looked up at her, unimpressed. With an air of reluctance, it bent its head to begin to lap up the milk. It was almost as though it understood her, she thought idly, as she reached out to stroke it, running her fingers down its spine before stifling a yawn with her free hand. "Do you have a name? What should I call you?" she asked, as she toed off her shoes. "I've never had a cat before. Um...Fluffy? How's that?" The cat paused to glare. "Lucky? Tiger? Anything?" More glaring. She sighed, getting up. If the cat was going to be particular, that wasn't her problem–she would call it Cat, if it insisted on being fussy. It wasn't like it made much of a difference either way; cats never came when you called them.

"I'll keep thinking, then," she told it, nonetheless, as she shut off the light. She was dead tired–too tired to change, too tired to think up more cat names. Carefully avoiding the cat, she crawled into bed, pulling her comforter up to her bare shoulders. Before she could wish the cat goodnight, she was out.

That night, her dreams were more of the same: vague and unsettling. She was drowning, she was burning, she was lost, she was pinned, something heavy on her chest, weighing her down like a stone–a man calling her name, _Éponine, Éponine,_ Éponine–

She woke with a start, her heart pounding. It was just a dream. The weight on her chest was the black cat, staring at her intently. "Just a dream," she murmured, reaching out to stroke its soft fur.

"Finally," said the cat, with obvious exasperation. "I've been waiting _forever_ –"

That was all the cat managed to get out before it was sent abruptly sailing through the air once Éponine shoved it away. Thankfully, it was a cat, which meant it– _he_ –landed neatly on his feet, from the sounds of it, somewhere off in the darkness. Éponine stared, wide-eyed, one hand already fumbling for her pepper spray.

"That was quite rude of you," the cat sniffed, slinking in within range of sight. Éponine stared. "What?" the cat asked, narrowing its eyes. "Haven't you ever met a talking cat before?" He paused. "Maybe not one such as handsome as myself," he added, thoughtfully. "Even as a cat, I suppose I must be very striking–"

" _No_ ," Éponine hissed. "No, I really can't say I have, I– _fuck_ , I must be dreaming. What a stupid dream, what's this even supposed to mean?"

The cat's eyes widened, and he leapt back up onto the bed, peering at Éponine more closely. "You mean you don't _know_?" he asked. Éponine stared back. "That you're a witch, I mean," he continued. "That you can do magic."

"What."

"My name is Montparnasse." Éponine stared at the proffered paw–as thought it was a _hand_ , this was absolutely ridiculous. She reached out to shake it dumbly. "I'm not actually a cat. I'm a wizard, and I'm cursed. I need your help."

"I'm a _witch_?" Éponine rubbed her eyes. She would wake up, the cat would still be on the floor with the milk–but when she opened her eyes, Montparnasse was still there, flicking his tail impatiently. "I'm a witch, and you can talk. You're a talking cat."

"I'm a _talking_ cat because you're a witch. Can't you remember?" Éponine's eyes widened with recognition.

"I wish you could–"

" _Don't_." Éponine blinked, startled into silence by the little cat paw pressed up against her mouth. "It took a while for it to stick. You're a novice, apparently, so wish magic's all you can do. Don't waste it on something you've already wished. It'll wear off eventually, but we won't need it by then."

Éponine was a witch. Éponine was a witch, and she was talking to a black cat. Éponine was absolutely _crazy_ , as it turned out, but she'd been called worse. "So you're a person," she ventured, as she processed this. "But you're cursed. Why are you cursed?"

"It was a gentleman's disagreement," Montparnasse sniffed, looking away. "Really, it wasn't my fault. I was on my way home from a meeting, and I happened to take my knife out to look at it, and I happened to bump into a man just as I was doing so, and as I tried to so very helpfully remove his nice jacket so that it didn't get any blood on it, he turned out to be a particularly powerful wizard, and he very _rudely_ turned me into a cat."

"You tried to kill someone for a jacket," Éponine repeated flatly.

"I didn't!" Montparnasse snapped, his ears flattening. "It was barely a flesh wound, he would have recovered, I was just trying to scare him."

"Scare him, and then take his jacket." Montparnasse evaded her gaze. "Right. Anyway–" She paused, mulling what he'd said over in her mind. "How long have you been a cat?"

Montparnasse inspected a paw. "A while."

"A year, a while? A few months, a while?"

"Well, nearly two hundred years, if I was to be completely honest."

"Two hundred _years_?" Éponine hissed. "And no one's helped you? For _two hundred years_?"

"As I said, he was a powerful wizard, apparently. No one wants anything to do with me.It was supposed to lapse on its own, after his death, but it sort of...didn't."

"God, that must have been, like...what, the eighteen hundreds, you're practically a _dinosaur_ –"

"Pay attention!" Montparnasse growled. "Anyway, as I was saying, that's where you come in." Éponine raised an eyebrow. "It didn't, because he didn't die. Sort of. He preserved himself after his death, in an object in his house, like a–"

"A ghost?"

"Almost. Sort of. An _echo_ , I'd say. Enough of his power remains that whatever it is that's binding me to this form is still here. Unfortunately, _I_ can't destroy whatever it is that's producing the echo because I don't have my magic in this form. You do, and you can."

Éponine eyed him, deep in thought. "Here's the thing, Montparnasse. I don't know how people did things back in the sixteen hundreds or whatever, but in two thousand and fourteen, we don't do things for free. What I'm trying to say is–why should I help you? What's in it for me?"

Montparnasse sighed, slinking forwards. "I thought you might ask that," he said. "And my answer is–well, you'll have to take my word for it, but my human form has been described by _lots_ of people as...uncommonly handsome."

"Oh my god."

"Yes, _incredibly_ handsome, some might even say, and since I can't offer you any valuables, or anything magical until I've had some time to recharge in my human body, I can instead offer you–"

"Oh my _god_." Éponine pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to hold in her laughter. "A _cat_ is trying to prostitute itself to me. I can't believe this is happening–"

"–Really, I don't see how this is funny at _all_ , you'd understand if you saw me–"

"God, if this is a dream, I _need_ to know what this signifies, apart from that fact that I'm totally fucked up–" She gave herself a second to calm down, and then a few more, to think. Éponine was, apparently, a witch. Éponine had no idea how to become a better witch. There were things that she wanted; things that she could wish for, things that she needed. The right tutor was just there in front of her, albeit with whiskers. "Let's just say you'll owe me. Alright? For when you get your magic back. You give me some magic lessons, or whatever, I give you your body back."

The cat even had the audacity to look offended. " _Fine_ ," he sniffed. "Your loss. Anyway, you're in luck–the house is close by. You–ahem–stumbled across me just as I'd finished my several weeks long journey in search of it. I'll lead you to it, you'll wish the object to be burned or destroyed or whatever you so choose, I'll turn back into myself again, and that'll be that."

"But I have to, like, fight a ghost," Éponine reminded him, as she slid out of bed. "Right? How does that work?"

Montparnasse stared. "Well...yes, but that'll be easy. Destroy the object, destroy the echo. You might not even have to deal with it, if we find it fast enough."

"Good," Éponine said, tying up her laces. She'd never been scared of ghosts–she's never _believed_ in ghosts, to be fair, but she'd never been scared of anything, really, either. She grabbed her leather jacket, pulling it on and zipping it up. "You have to give me a crash course in wishing, though. Is that it? I wish...whatever?"

"It's not that easy," Montparnasse answered, leaping down to the floor. "You have to really _want_ it. Whatever it is. And there's a limit to what you can do, particularly when you're a novice, like you are."

"Okay," Éponine murmured, cracking the door to glance out into the hall. "Shh." She could only imagine what would happen if her mother–or worse, her _father_ –caught on to the fact that Éponine was harboring a magical cat in her room. She wondered if magic was genetic–but no, if either of _them_ had any sort of magical abilities, she certainly would have heard them brag about it. Although–she supposed–it was a little bit of a miracle that they were still in business.

She stole down the stairs and out through the front door, Montparnasse at her heels. She wondered how he looked, as a human, apart from devastatingly handsome, as he'd implied. If she were to judge from his current appearance, he would certainly be dark-haired, and green-eyed, but still, she had no idea. She supposed that she would have to take his word for it. Although...

"Why can't I just wish you human?" she asked, earning an eye roll, which at least was mildly interesting–she'd never seen a cat roll its eyes.

"As I said, you're not very strong," Montparnasse informed her as he padded alongside her. His voice sounded young, she thought–certainly not hundreds of years old. _Really_ young. Éponine's age, young, maybe. "Either way, curses often have to be lifted by whoever's done the cursing. Especially if they're as powerful as he is."

"Was mugging powerful wizards a thing for you, or were you really just sort of young and stupid?" Éponine asked, as they rounded a corner. "Do you know where you're going? Isn't it dogs who have good senses of direction–"

"You ask a lot of questions," Montparnasse snapped, bristling–he looked like a little hedgehog, with his fur like that, Éponine thought. "Of _course_ I know where I'm going. It's just been a while since I've been here, everything's changed." He paced, winding through her legs and then pausing a few feet in front of her. "It's hard to do this without magic," he added, after a few seconds' pause. "I mean–when you're such a skilled wizard as myself, as I was, it's hard not to rely on my, er...immense talent."

Éponine knelt, brushing her knuckles over Montparnasse's fur to smooth it, earning a flinch at first, until gradually, he relaxed, even going so far as to shamelessly lean into her touch. He shut his eyes, rubbing his cheek up against her hand. "I'm sure you're a fantastic wizard," she told him.

"It's just very hard," he said pitifully. "Being a cat. I was so _handsome_ as a person."

"You poor thing," Éponine remarked dryly, rubbing him behind his good ear. Sensing her scorn, Montparnasse drew back, his tail flicking in irritation.

"I wasn't young or stupid, either just...caught off guard," he returned, shooting her a glare before turning to continue to lead the way–down this alleyway, and then the next. " _You're_ young and stupid, anyway, who takes off with a talking cat they've just met," he added, a little sulkily.

"I don't have to help you, you know," Éponine said, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, if you really want to know, I have a few theories about all this. I might still be dreaming. I might _finally_ have become completely fucking delusional–it runs in the family, if you're interested, which you're not–and, if neither of those turn out to be right...this is one of the most exciting things that's happened to me, I think."

"You're welcome," said Montparnasse with just the amount of smugness that made Éponine regret admitting it. She lapsed into petulant silence, then, although as the minutes passed, she began to wonder where it was, exactly, they were going. Every turn sent them down another alleyway, between narrow passageways and buildings that loomed high over their heads. These weren't the streets that she recognized–which was saying something, as Éponine, in her time, had recognized quite a few streets; sometimes (oftentimes) the cacophony of the inn was too much for her.

"Where _are_ we, anyway?" Éponine asked, pulling her jacket more tightly around her.

"Don't talk to me, I'm concentrating," Montparnasse said, narrowing his eyes at the gloom. "Left, right, right, right, left, left–"

"What?"

"Shh." He paused. "One more right. I think. There's a very complicated–well, it isn't _magic_ , it's just knowing. He's hidden his place away where you won't be able to find it unless you know _exactly_ where it is. Which I do." When that drew no response, he glanced behind him at her expectantly, before sighing. "Well, it was very hard to find out, especially when I couldn't talk, and it took _forever_ to memorize, you could be a little impressed, really–"

"Another right," Éponine interrupted, stepping forwards. How they were going to get back into the street they were on initially was beyond her; she couldn't remember. She was faced with a narrow, narrow gap between two red brick buildings. She sucked in her stomach, shouldering her way into the gap. "I hope you're right," Éponine muttered, inching forwards. "And I hope you're not...super buff, or fat, or anything, when we go back, otherwise you're on your own."

"How _dare_ you. I'm not fat," Montparnasse hissed. "I'm _really buff_ , as you say, actually, so joke's on you–"

"I'll believe it when I see it," Éponine said breathlessly, gritting her teeth as she felt the side of the building scrape against her stomach. It was almost as though it was getting narrower–she envied Montparnasse, because with just a _touch_ more claustrophobia, Éponine would have been out like a light; as it was, she could feel the beginnings of panic. She shut her eyes, making her way forwards, forwards, forwards–

And then, it was over. Éponine wrenched herself out of the tiny alleyway, stumbling forwards into the grass. She caught her breath, brushing off the grit from her jeans, and looked up.

"Wow."

The house was massive, almost repugnant in its excess. It had clearly been built upon, and built upon, and built upon, different styles and colors patchworked in–there a Tudor trim, there almost medieval-looking stone. It loomed above her as though it were some great hulking, breathing beast; just as it she stared up at it, a bit of stone broke off, landing with a soft thud in the overgrown grass.

"Good to know he didn't have any taste," Montparnasse sniffed, padding past her and disappearing into the weeds. Éponine followed with less grace, fighting her way through the thick grass. As she stepped onto the porch, it _groaned,_ and Éponine halted.

With what sounded like a crack, the door creaked open on its own, slowly and methodologically. Éponine was faced with a long, dark hallway–and a light, at the end. Montparnasse was nowhere to be seen. Éponine glanced behind her, only to find him nearly pressed up against her heels. "You're the one with magic," he offered, unsticking himself from her as gracefully as he could manage. "I thought that–well, it makes sense for you to lead the way, right?"

"Did they have the phrase scaredy cat back in the olden days?" Éponine muttered, stepping forwards. "You haven't really told me how I'm supposed to do this whole magic thing."

"There isn't anything to it," Montparnasse whispered, following her closely as she ventured into the darkness. "It's just 'I wish', and then–"

  
_Boom_. "Ow! Get _off_ me," Éponine hissed, reaching back to dislodge Montparnasse and his claws from her leg. "It's a creepy door, this is a creepy house, this is like, _textbook_ ghost story, obviously it's going to slam shut behind us and it's supposed to freak us out. Calm down."

"I _am_ calm," Montparnasse hissed, although he didn't seem to protest when Éponine scooped him up into her arms. As fearless as she was, she had to admit that it made her feel a tiny bit better to have him in her arms.

  
_Montparnasse_.

"What?"

"What? That wasn't me."

  
_Montparnasse_.

There was a creaking, groaning sound, and as Éponine turned, in the darkness she could see a lump under the floorboards, as though it was a rug and there was something under it. Right in front of her eyes, it moved, edging towards her, the wooden floor creaking and cracking in protest, a seam beginning to split– "I wish there were lights!" Éponine shouted, her heart pounding, and in a flash, it was as though it was daytime, the slightly dingy looking hallway no more fearsome than an unimpressive hotel.

There was no lump under the floorboards. She stared, and let out a shaky breath.

With one more cautious glance behind her, Éponine continued on her way. "You're very helpful, Montparnasse," she said flatly. "You can stop clawing me, now, we're alright."

"What am I supposed to do, meow it to death?" Montparnasse snapped. "It's really not fun being _completely_ helpless, here, I'll have you know, especially since I'm in the literal hands of a complete beginner."

"What was that? Thank you for saving us, Éponine? You're welcome." Montparnasse turned his face away, not deigning to answer. Éponine could hear his little cat heart pounding, and truthfully, she didn't blame him–even with the light in the hallway, the room at the end still left her uneasy.

  
_Montparnasse_. The lights flickered out. "Time to run," Montparnasse suggested politely, peering over her shoulder.

"Maybe you ought to try apologizing, this is your fault, anyway–"

" _Time to run_!" Another creak, and Éponine decided that she'd rather not look back at whatever it was that Montparnasse was looking at, and take his advice. She clutched him tightly to her chest and bolted, adrenaline coursing through her veins, the groaning and cracking and creaking and snapping thunderous in her ears–and as she neared the doorway, she could see it begin to shut.

"I wish the door would stay the _fuck_ open!" she growled, and as though startled, it halted in its process, just enough for Éponine to slide through and shut it with a slam behind her.

She paused, to catch her breath, letting Montparnasse slip from her arms. They were in a kitchen, of some sort, with stained, greenish tile, the scattered remains of some sort of meat growing mold on a countertop. Éponine raised her arm up to cover her nose and mouth, stepping forward. Montparnasse in turn, made a beeline for the table. He leapt up onto it and nimbly wound his way through repulsive dish after repulsive dish until he came to a painting sitting at the head of the table, propped up against a chair as though it were a person sitting down for dinner. He sniffed it, his ears going back, and recoiled. "Here!" he said, turning back to look at Éponine. "There it as, now all you have to do is–"

  
_Montparnasse_. The voice was ear-splittingly loud, rattling the plates and the rest of the fine china. Éponine clapped her hands over her ears, the smell of the room forgotten, but that didn't help–she could hear it in her _chest_ , through its husky vibrations. _You shouldn't have come here_. Something grabbed Montparnasse by the throat, lifting him into the air as he tried is hardest to claw whatever it was holding him up.

"Put him down!" Éponine shouted, and startlingly enough, it did, dropping Montparnasse abruptly to the ground with a thud. All of a sudden, Éponine could feel a chill in the air, as well as the sensation that something was standing in front of her. It paused, as though it was considering something. She straightened, ignoring the way her heart was pounding.

" _Move!_ " Montparnasse snarled, and Éponine did, just in time for whatever it was to leave a deep gouge in the wall wish a crack like thunder. Éponine scrambled under the table, dragging the painting off of the chair. Another crack, and the table collapsed, the heavy wood nearly pinning her. "Um–I wish this was destroyed!" she tried desperately.

To her horror, nothing happened. "I wish this was on fire!" she tried, sliding out from under the table just as it collapsed entirely. "I wish this was ripped apart, um–Montparnasse!" There was a gaping hole in the floor just where she'd been a second earlier, coupled with the stench of rot. Éponine fought the urge to gag. "It's not working!" she called to Montparnasse. "I don't think I'm strong enough!"

Montparnasse jumped to the side just a the floor cracked, narrowly avoiding slipping between the floorboards. She fumbled for her pocket knife, digging its blade into the canvas, but it didn't leave a scratch, and the knife was pulled from her grasp. Just as she looked up, she heard the rush of something lunging at her, and everything went black.

When she came to, she was lying on her side, and everything hurt. She squinted, propping herself up. There was the painting, lying a few feet away from her–and there was Montparnasse, backed up against the wall. She could see it, now, in front of him; it barely resembled a person, more bone than flesh, its jaw half hanging off of it, its black sockets scraped and widened by scratches. Its clothes were tatters, and with every breath it drew came a deep, husky rattle. Behind it floated kitchen knives, pocket knives, swords, sabers, shards of glass, sharp, rusty shards of metal. And in front of it lay Montparnasse.

Éponine moved without thinking. She picked up the painting as its array of weapons quivered, ready to spring forward and bury themselves in the little black cat in front of it. As she leapt in front of Montparnasse, they shot forward.

There was the _thud, thud, thud_ of a knife sinking into the painting she held in front of her, and a sword, and a jagged bit of glass. The force sent her back against the wall, nearly hitting Montparnasse, and she hissed with pain as something nicked her. The next thing she heard was a horrible screeching noise–a _howling_ , and then the painting was burning up in her hands, leaving her fingertips singed. And then it was gone.

The floor began to crack and tear apart, and the ceiling began to crumble, the walls bending in around them, before the lights abruptly went out. Éponine groped blindly for Montparnasse, and instead of feeling fur, she felt skin–and as thrilling as that was, more importantly, he wasn't moving. She grabbed for him blindly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and struggling to pull him to a standing position. He didn't _feel_ buff, as he'd described himself, nor hefty, which worked in Éponine's favor–he was considerably taller. She began to drag him towards the faint light of the exit, determinedly ignoring the sounds of the house un-house-ing around the two of them.

In the entryway, she stumbled, nearly pitching backwards into what felt like a hole in the floorboard, but she made it through the doorway, practically shoving Montparnasse into the grass in her haste to get away from the house. One leap off of the porch, and then she whirled around just in time to see the house fold in on itself, its patchwork foundation sinking into the ground, the earth swallowing it up with a tortured groan. The chasm shut around it neatly, and everything was quiet.

"Jesus," Éponine said, her fingers shaking, as she rummaged in her pockets for a cigarette. She paused, however, upon finally catching sight of Montparnasse the ex-cat. "Of course," she muttered, kneeling to make sure he'd just fainted and hadn't managed to get himself killed. He was _handsome_. The worst thing about a man with a big ego was a man with a big ego for a good reason. There was his flawless skin, his sleek black hair, the smudge of his eyelashes against his cheek–and poets, she was fairly certain, had probably written about his lips. She leaned down, listening to his heartbeat. "Wake up," she told him, nudging him. "I'm not giving you mouth-to-mouth."

"Oh, _do_." He stirred, and Éponine caught sight of a pair of familiar green eyes. He looked down at himself, and then back up at Éponine. "Do you have a mirror?" he asked desperately, reaching for her pockets clumsily. "Give me–"

"I _don't_! I have a phone," Éponine sighed, taking it out and putting it on the picture setting. "There. You're–"

"I'm just as I remember," he sighed, reaching out to touch the screen. "Éponine, I could _kiss_ you," he purred, wrapping his arms around her and rubbing his cheek against hers, cat-like.

"Hmm." Éponine considered it. "...Maybe later."

"If you'd rather wait around in bushes for that lawyer to pay attention to you, be my guest," Montparnasse shrugged. Éponine reddened. " _I'm_ prettier, though."

"Whatever," she said, rolling her eyes, although she paused. "...Maybe. Anyway. We ought to get going. I hope you can wish yourself some clothes, because I'd rather you not get arrested if you're going to teach me about magic."

Montparnasse sighed. "I suppose I can fulfill my end of the bargain," he said, just as–in a blink–he was abruptly clothed in jeans and a t-shirt–much better than Éponine was fearing. "What? Cats have eyes. I _can_ keep up with trends," he sniffed. "I look nice, though, right?" Éponine shrugged. "Tell me I look nice."

Éponine paused. "You look nice," she told him. "Please don't stab anyone else, I'd rather not have to save your ass again."

"I promise, I am out of the stabbing business," he told her, brushing off his knees as he stood. "For now." He held out his hand. "Still think this is a dream?"

"I wish that it wasn't," Éponine said, shutting her eyes and wanting, wanting, _wanting_ , and when nothing happened, she smiled, relieved. "That's good enough for me." His hand was warm in hers as he pulled her to her feet.


End file.
